No, Sir.
by Nikapi
Summary: A comment by Oz makes Xander come to some unpleasant conclusions.


Title: No, Sir.  
Summary: The first fic I ever wrote. Just something that had to be put onto paper the first time I saw "Choices" One of those inner dialogue fun-rides.   
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Joss'. All spoken dialogue is taken dirrectly from "Choices" Also Joss'  
Note: I wrote this a long time ago, and while there are things I'd like to change now, I'd rather keep it as it was, since it's what got me started on fic in the first place. Revisions might come later, depending on what my "critics closet" says.  
Distribution: As long as you ask me first, you can put it where-ever.  
  


--  
  


"Will's got it pretty well laid out."   
  
Oz and I examine the paper before us, surveying the instructions. I can't help but muse aloud,   
  
"Wow, she even drew helpful diagrams. That's the pedestal?"   
  
Indeed, it is. A little, skinny, black inked pedestal with a bowl. I almost smile - Willow is not an artist.   
  
"And all the ingredients. And us. See. There's me - and that's you."   
  
I give the little stick figures a look over, puzzled. They look identical, save the fact that one's partially blocked by a somewhat circular blob-y thing.   
  
"How can you tell which is which? They both look kinda stick-figure-y to me."   
  
Oz doesnt look up, just smiles at the drawing fondly, as if there's some secret writting on it only he, in his boyfriend status, can read. He points at bloby-stick,   
  
"That's me. That's my guitar, see?"   
  
Right, the blob guitar.  
  
"Oh. Got ya."   
  
There's a long pause, Oz continues to look at the drawing, and I swear to God, he nearly makes an expression. Then, he proudly remarks, in a very offhand tone,  
  
"Nobody like my Will."  
  
...  
  
Excuse me? I run that phrase over in my head, blinking once. What does he mean, 'His Will'? I mean, ok. Boyfriend. I'll give him that. But - hi?- how long have they actually be dating? Not more than two years. I've known this girl my whole life. Since I learned to talk, she's been my best friend.  
  
Granted, we've been a little stressed lately. And, ok, the stolen kisses might have have to prioritize a little. But, still!  
  
There's so much I want to say to him. I want to tell him all the stuff we've been through, all the things we've seen. I want to tell him and Jesse, and her parents, and my parents, and kindergarten, and how awful Cordelia used to be to us, and all the other things that, without each other, we might not have been able to handle.  
  
I want to tell him what it was like to be passed over for some guy with a guitar. I wanted to tell him what it's like, being used the first time your with someone and not being able to talk to the person you value the most, because she's with her boyfriend so often that you hardly see her. I want to tell him that it's all his fault.  
  
We've been through more pain than most people our age. We've been through more pain that most people. We've both been dealt unfair hands, but we always managed.  
  
I want to tell him that even through all that, and even though, lately, I've been shunted to the side, ignored, forgotten..she's still my Willow. She's still my best friend. I'd still die for her.  
  
But I can't. Not really. Because the more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that I've been shunted to the side. I've been ignored. I've been forgotten. She's still my best friend, but I'm not hers.   
  
She's not letting herself be my Willow. And the realization that hurts the most hits me a second later.  
  
I deserve it.  
  
For the first time in my life, with all the demons and the vampires, the parents who dont want me, the kids who ignore me, I am completely, totally, truely alone, and it's my own fault.  
  
Time, which had ceased to move, suddenly speeds up and my mind thrusts me back into the moment. I dont look at Oz, I cant. I can only do what I would have never thought I could.  
  
I dont disagree.  
  
"No, Sir. There is not."  
  
Oz, with an obliviousness that is usually my trademark, snaps out of his thoughts as well.  
  
"Okay. Toad me."  
  
I do. Well, not litterally, though if I knew how to, I'd probably consider it at this point. I hand him what he wants, and slowly, life resumes. I dont want to do this alone, but I will.   
  
I've "earned" it.  



End file.
